


you can feel like this for free

by grace



Category: Bandom
Genre: Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Painplay, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace/pseuds/grace
Summary: originally posted on lj on 28th-Mar-2009





	1. Chapter 1

Bob buys Artwork and listens to it over and over while My Chem make their record. He doesn’t mention it, how much he listens to it or how much he likes it, or the sharp sweet pinch of nostalgia he feels hearing Jeph’s sturdy bass march along behind Bert’s vocal improbabilities. 

He thinks he is alone in his admiration, until he’s in Ray’s car one day driving back from Coffee Bean, and he’s flipping through Ray’s ipod and he finds the record. He puts it on without saying anything. Ray’s hair gently swishes against his window, in time with the windshield wipers, as he bobs his head along with the first track.

“They did a good job,” says Bob finally.

“Yeah, they sure did,” says Ray, and Bob can’t read his voice.

“Are we still mad at them?” asks Bob.

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Ray, his voice rising a little in pitch. He sounds exasperated. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Me neither,” says Bob. “I just follow them.”

They listen in silence for a little while longer, waiting at a light. Bob is following along with the drummer in his head, and he’s impressed; Bob’s not strong enough to do that, especially not after the surgery.

“Their new guy sounds good,” he says finally. “You know? Listen to that. Fuck.”

Ray looks over at him. “Our new guy sounds better,” he says, smiling.

“Fuck you, I am not a new guy,” protests Bob, frowning to hide his grin.

*

Bob finds the record on Mikey’s ipod. Mikey, looking kind of sneaky but unashamed, says, “Fuck yeah, it’s good, I listen to it all the time.”

“Just not when your brother’s here,” says Alicia from the other room, disembodied.

*

Bob says to Brian, “You like the Used’s new shit?”

Brian’s sitting on the edge of the bed, taking his shoes off, and he pauses. Bob looks at the line of his spine and can tell everything he’s thinking.

“It’s pretty good,” says Brian. “They’re doing good; they’re growing up.”

“I miss them sometimes, do you miss them?” asks Bob. He’s never seen the sense in not asking the question you’re trying to ask, and he knows that Brian appreciates this about him. 

Brian lies back on the bed. He looks at the ceiling. “I learned a lot from them,” he says finally. “More than any other band before you guys.” He shifts, looks at Bob, sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed in his drawstring pants. “You know. You were there,” he says, grinning. 

Bob grins back. Dixie climbs on the bed, eager to take advantage of Brian’s supine position and chew his face. Brian says, “Dixie. Dixie. Ew. Dixie,” scrunching his face up but not trying to push her away. 

Bob grins some more and says, “Do you think we could maybe do something with them?”

Brian gently pushes Dixie back, sits up. He has his thinking face on.

“You could talk to Gerard,” pushes Bob. 

“I don’t think Gerard’s the issue,” says Brian. “Gerard doesn’t care about that stuff anymore. You know? He’s so happy now. When you’re happy like he is, all that shit from the past just kind of stops hurting as much, doesn’t seem important.” Brian’s looking at Dixie as he rubs under her chin, and Bob wonders if Brian is talking about more than Gerard and Bert. Bob unfolds his legs, pokes Brian in the side with his foot. Brian grins at him. “I don’t know about Bert, though,” Brian continues. “I haven’t talked to him in a long time, you know that.”

“I know,” says Bob.

“Or Quinn,” says Brian. “You know Quinn never, ever, ever forgets shit.”

“I know,” says Bob. 

Later he says, “Can we just try, though? I really want to.”

“Can you not talk about this while I’m kissing you?” says Brian in his put-upon voice.

“It’s just stupid that we went through shit together and now we’re supposed to pretend we don’t even know each other cause it’s awkward. Isn’t that stupid?”

“It’s stupid,” allows Brian. “May I put my tongue back in your mouth?” 

“Say we can think about it, then,” says Bob, stubborn. “Say we can try to make it work.”

“Yes,” says Brian. “Yes, okay fine, we can try. Are you done?”

“Uh-huh,” says Bob. “With talking. With the talking portion of the persuasion.”

*

Bob finds the record on Lindsey’s ipod. By then he’s on a mission, and this merely vindicates him.

“Have you thought at all yet about who we wanna go out with?” he asks Gerard. He’s holding the baby for Gerard while Gerard makes coffee. 

“Ummm…” says Gerard. “Not in, like, a definitive, absolute, kind of way.” He scratches his head. He has blue paint in his hair; Bob recognizes the shade from the painting Lindsey’s working on right now, that she showed Bob earlier, from a series about motherhood, featuring seahorses and pod people and the Virgin Mary. 

The baby grabs Bob’s beard and says, “Snooooogle, phump.”

“Snooogle phump!” says Bob back. “Hey, hey. Hey hey hey. Unhand me.” He gently pulls the baby’s fingers away, pretends to eat them. This is the baby’s favorite game, and she shrieks.

“Linds really likes the Used’s new stuff,” says Gerard, abruptly, switching the coffee pot off.

Bob freezes, says, “Uh-huh? Me too.”

“You should talk to Brian,” says Gerard after a minute. “Maybe we could go out with them.”

“You can talk to Brian,” says Bob. “All of you people can still talk to Brian. Just because I am banging Brian doesn’t mean I’m the only one who’s allowed to have a conversation with him.”

Gerard and the baby look at each other like Bob is crazy. Gerard and the baby are real good at mindmelding. 

* 

Brian talks to Bert. Bert talks to Quinn. Everything works out. Brian calls Bob first.

“You owe me one,” says Brian.

“I moved to this shitty city for you, what more do you want from me,” says Bob.

“Nothing,” says Brian. “I just enjoy your powers of persuasion when you think you might not get stuff you want.”

“You’re a sick fuck, we’re firing you, gotta go, baby’s puking,” says Bob, hanging up.

*

Gerard has a long phone conversation with Bert, and with Alison, and then Lindsey takes the phone and has a long conversation with Bert, and with Alison. They sit on the couch afterwards snuffling happily and holding hands, and Bob comes in and sits across from them with the baby.

“Nobody should ever make you feel bad about having two mommies,” he tells the baby. “It’s a natural, beautiful thing.” 

Gerard throws a kleenex at him. “Shut up, with your heart of stone,” he says. “It’s just a relief, you know? All that bad shit’s over now, we’re all okay.” 

“Happily ever fucking after,” says Lindsey, and blows her nose.

*

For a while, The Used had been the band of Bob’s heart; they had had his allegiance. He could have stayed with them forever; he could have been the one they chose after Branden couldn’t take it anymore; he knows this. But then his band found him, and Bob declared a new allegiance, and what could have happened wasn’t important. Then for a while, Bob didn’t really even want to like the Used, after Branden left and all the bad shit went down between Bert and Gerard. But now that feels like a long time ago, and he’s ready to like them like he used to.

The first day of the tour, Bob climbs onto the Used bus and Jepha hugs him, for a long time, warmly. When Bob lets go, a voice behind Jepha says, “Hey, I wanna get in on that,” and their new guy rises up from the couch, sleepy-eyed and grinning. This is the second time Bob’s met him, or maybe the third, cause he knows he saw New Transit Direction play a bunch of times, but has no particular memory of it. But Dan wraps him up in a hug like they’ve known each other forever, not a half-assed, pussy, dude-bro hug either, a hug like he could lift Bob off his feet. Bob feels dazed, tries to hide it. Jepha laughs fondly.

* 

On their way into Seattle, Bob is riding on the Used bus, and Gerard calls him from the baby bus. “She wants to talk to you,” he says, and the baby makes the distinctive buzzing noise with her mouth that is her version of Bob’s name.

“Hi,” says Bob. “Hi, I love you.”

Across from him on the couch, Dan laughs.

The baby makes some more delighted noises, and Bob says, “Uh-huh?” and “No way!,” following her tone. “Okay,” says Bob finally, “Tell your identidyke parents not to drink all the Red Bull in the fridge. I love you, bye.”

“Hi, I love you, I love you, bye,” mimics Dan.

“Shut up, she’s a baby,” says Bob, hiding his grin in his shirt collar. “You should say stuff like that to babies.”

“Bob’s biological clock is ticking!” says Bert from the back. “There’s gonna be baby Bobs! Watch out!”

“No way,” says Bob. “I’m holding out to reproduce til I’m with someone at least as tall as me.”

“What are you talking about, Brian would be a great mommy,” says Bert. “I used to think Brian was my mommy, in fact.”

“We all did,” says Jepha. “We imprinted on him, like ducks?”

Everybody laughs, including Dan. Bob doesn’t think about it till later – when he’s lying in his bunk listening to the Seattle rain on the bus windows and Ray on the phone with Krista – but Dan might not even know who Brian is. There’s so much Dan must not know, because he hasn’t been there all along, but Bob forgets that whenever he’s talking to Dan, because Dan’s so easy. He just slides out of the conversation when it goes over his head, slides back in when it comes back around, and never seems to mind.

They’ve had three shows so far, and Bob’s watched Dan play every night; Bob’s been very singular in his focus. He hasn’t gotten up the nerve to talk to him yet, about all the amazing stuff he does on the new songs. He’s such a fucking powerhouse. Sometimes when Bob’s playing, the thought crosses his mind, unbidden, that maybe Dan is watching him, but he never looks around to see. The thought makes him feel uncomfortable, restless.

*

In Ontario, backstage during the break between bands, Dan comes up behind Bob and says, “Hey. Hey, I have a present for you.”

“Yeah?” says Bob, trying to twist around to see Dan. The hall is dark and crowded. Frank is leaning on the wall next to him doing his pre-show Calm Breathing. Bob starts to say something, and then there’s a lurch and a drop in his stomach, because Dan’s grabbed him around the waist, hoisted him in the air. Bob can’t talk for a second, can’t even breathe. When he finally says, “What the fuck?,” Dan is already striding purposefully down the hall, carrying Bob like Bob is a bunch of bricks Dan is going to lay. He smells like sweat, show endorphins. 

Bob’s shoes scuff against the floor, and he thinks to plant his feet, struggle. The sound rushes back into his ears like he’s come up from underwater, and Dan is laughing behind him, trying to pick him back up. Bob yells at him, laughing and struggling, but he can’t get free. All the techs in the hallway are detouring around them, good-naturedly. Finally Dan manages to lift Bob’s feet off the floor again, and he carries him, kicking and struggling like a three-year-old, down to the end of the hallway and back, deposits him beside Frank. When he lets go it’s sudden and startling.

“There,” he says, sounding proud, adjusting his baseball cap.

“What. The shitting fuck. Was that?” manages Bob, trying to catch his breath. He can’t look at Dan’s flat, crinkly eyes without laughing again, helplessly.

“Your present!” says Dan, turning to leave. “Have a good show!”

“That was not a present,” yells Bob, “That was an assault!,” but Dan’s not listening to him, Dan’s gone.   

*

Brian calls right after Bob gets out of the shower and is crawling into his hotel bed. “Hey,” he says, and there’s the sound of a door shutting, Brian dropping his keys. “I just got home, get me off.”

“Oh hell no,” says Bob, running his fingers through his hair, lazily trying to get the tangles out. “I’m so goddamn tired I can’t see straight.”

“C’mon,” says Brian patiently, and Bob can hear him stepping out of his jeans, belt buckle hitting the bathroom floor. “It won’t take long, I’m tired too. I’ll get you off.”

“Only if you can make me come in five minutes or less, Schechter,” grumbles Bob, but he slides his hand down his belly and into his boxers. His skin feels warm all over, soft from the bath. “Okay,” he says. “I’m touching myself…What are you wearing?”

“You can’t talk dirty any better than that?” says Brian. “That’s some half-ass dirty talk.”

“Ohhh, fuck you,” says Bob. “C’mon, what are you thinking about?”

“You,” says Brian. “You sucking me off, nothing special.”

“I wish I was sucking you off,” says Bob, letting his voice drift down into a low sleepy octave. His eyes are half shut, all he can see is a fuzzy warm glow from the hotel room lamp through his eyelashes. He thumbs the ridge, says, “But not doing anything, just laying there letting you fuck my face, cause I’m tired.”

“Hmmm,” says Brian. “Yeah, I’d grab your hair and just push you and pull you, how I wanted you to go. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Bob. Out of nowhere, he thinks about Dan, Dan carrying him and dropping him, the sick drop in his belly when Dan let go and let him fall. His breath catches in his throat and he feels warmth prickle all over his body, shifts his feet against the sheets.

“Whatcha thinking about?” says Brian, sharp.

“Dan Whitesides,” says Bob.

“Oh yeah?” says Brian. “Huh.”

“Huh,” mimics Bob.

“Yeah, he’s pretty hot,” says Brian. His voice sounds a little tighter, a little rougher. He likes it when Bob talks about other people, people he wants. “What’s hot about him, c’mon, tell me.”

Bob clears his throat, strokes a little faster. His spine twists a little, his shoulders tense. “He’s so goddamn strong,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper like this is a secret, a confession.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” says Brian.

“Uh-huh,” says Bob. He feels close.

“Yeah,” says Brian. “He could pretty much make you do what he wanted, right?”

“Or what you wanted,” says Bob. “Make me do what you wanted.” Then he’s thinking about kneeling with his hands tied behind him, sucking Brian’s cock, Dan’s huge hands in his hair, pushing him down, making him stay, unyielding, and he comes: a little huff of breath and a whine, twisting his wrist.

Brian says, “Fuck,” voice low and scratchy.

“C’mon, your turn,” says Bob, sleepy. “I was just thinking about Dan Whitesides tying me up and choking me on your cock.”

Brian bites back a laugh and comes. They lie there breathing for a minute in their separate rooms, and then Brian shifts, and Bob can hear him picking up his watch from the bedside table. “Twelve minutes,” he reports. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, punctual phone sex, important life skill,” says Bob, already drifting off, ignoring the mess on his belly. “Goodnight.”

“Maybe for you,” says Brian. “I still gotta floss my teeth and go over my stuff for tomorrow.”

“Freak,” says Bob. “Weirdo.”

*

The next day when the busses are stopped, Dan pokes his head in the non-baby MCR bus and says, “Since I am such a fine neighbor, may I borrow an Eggo waffle?”

“Sure,” says Bob, shuffling over to the fridge. He’s still in his slippers. He takes his time getting the waffle out of the box, cause he’s trying to think of some way of exacting revenge for the Bob-carrying shenanigans. It’s early and he’s sleepy though, so he can’t think of anything, and he just hands Dan the waffle, cold in its plastic wrapper. “You don’t like Quinn’s shitty vegan flaxseed waffles, huh?” he asks, scratching under his beanie. 

Dan’s still standing on the bus steps, so he’s shorter than Bob, grins up at him. “Flaxseed, is that what that is, I thought it was birdseed,” he says. “Hey, man, it’s so funny you know what kind of waffles Quinn eats.”

“It’s not funny,” says Bob. “It’s deathly serious. I had to buy them for him for like three years of my life, that shit is hard to find below the Mason-Dixon line.” 

“I didn’t know you worked the catering gig, too.”

“I worked all the gigs,” says Bob.

“Yeah, you’re a Bob of all trades,” says Dan, saluting him with the waffle and jumping off the bus steps. “Catch you later. Sexy slippers, dude.”

“Fuck you,” says Bob. “They’re comfortable,” but Dan is already walking back to his bus through the morning sunlight, singing the neighbors song from Mr. Rogers.

*

MSI have their schedule worked out so that Lindsey can do this tour with Gerard. Jamia’s alternating weeks on and weeks off. Alicia is out with them, of course.

“You only married a tech so your wife’d always be out with you,” says Bob accusingly to Mikey, watching Mikey and Alicia in the lounge eating pureed carrots and watching Wallace and Gromit with the baby.

“Brian’ll be out soon,” says Mikey placidly.

“I didn’t say anything about Brian,” says Bob. “Stop eating the baby’s food, it’s disgusting.” 

Bob and Ray are alone in their spouselessness, since Krista couldn’t take time off and had to stay in Jersey. Ray talks to her every night. Bob puts a pillow over his head when she passes the phone to Bauer and Ray asks him about his fleas and whether he misses his Daddy. “It’s sick the way you talk to that dog,” Bob says. “He’s gonna think he’s a person.” Then he calls Brian and asks him how Dixie’s stools look, whether he thinks they should adjust her diet some more.

*

Bob only has phone sex on hotel nights, it’s a rule. He also only jerks off on the bus when no one else is on the bus; it’s a rule. Less than a month in, he’s already sexually frustrated. “I’m sexually frustrated,” he tells Brian. “I’m gonna cheat on you with the kid standing outside the bus right now with a sign that says I SOLD MY PLASMA FOR FRONT ROW SEATS.”

“Sexy,” says Brian. “Is Worm around?”

“He’s walking the baby bus to Starbucks.”

“Don’t go outside til he’s back, okay?”

“The kid has no plasma, what could she do to me?” asks Bob, reasonably.

Brian sighs. “Do you wanna get off? I’m on my lunch hour.”

“No, there’s people,” says Bob. “I love that you have a lunch hour, what the fuck, you’re such a dork.”

“I love you too,” says Brian. “I’m coming out for the New England shows.”

“For real?” says Bob, startled. “That’s like, less than a week.”

“I know,” says Brian. “Save yourself for me, okay? It’s better with plasma.”

*

They switch every show, and in Hartford MCR plays first. Gerard talks to the crowd about the importance of reading aloud to your children, and Frank puts a whole bag of Skittles in his mouth and spits them out one by one on the front row. It’s a good show.

Backstage, Bob leans over and tries to shake the sweat out of his hair like a dog. His heart is pounding, his wrists don’t hurt. He loves his life. Then he makes an undignified squeaking noise as his feet leave the ground, flails around for something to hold onto, and finds the backs of Dan’s knees.

“Oh my god, if you drop me on my head I am suing the fuck out of you,” says Bob.

Dan makes a happy humming noise. He has to take small, lurching steps, but he is carryingBob _upside down_ ; fuck, he’s even stronger than Bob thought. Bob feels stupid, powerless, thrilled, the blood rushing to his head.

“I have a real present for you this time,” says Dan above him.

“Fuck you, you’re insane,” says Bob, but then he sees a familiar pair of Doc Martens, and he does a panicked, full-body wiggle, almost making Dan drop him. “Fuck you, put me down!” he yells. “Put me down right the fuck now!” but he’s laughing. 

Dan puts him down, drops him on his hands and knees, and Bob scrambles to his feet. Brian is grinning at him, his hair tousled the way it is after he gets off a plane, cause he sits there tugging on it the whole time while he works. Bob wants to put both of his hands in it immediately, but he settles for a hug, casual. 

Brian gives him a sly, steady look, and Bob flushes, talks too fast, telling Brian random stuff, wishing Dan would walk away, but Dan just hangs out next to them, grinning, all huge and hot.


	2. Chapter 2

Brian lifts his head off Bob’s belly, flips a page in the industry magazine he’s reading, and says, “Dan’s cool.”

“Uh-huh,” says Bob. He feels wrung out in the best way, from show and sex, and he doesn’t feel like doing anything but lying there and threading his fingers through Brian’s hair.

“Do you wanna have sex with him?” asks Brian.

“Oh my god,” says Bob. “I knew you would think that. Just cause a dude throws me around some doesn’t mean I want to have sex with him.”

“But do you want to have sex with him?” persists Brian in his logical voice, turning another page. 

Bob reads the headline on the page, and says, “What do you mean, like with Katlin?”

“Not necessarily,” says Brian. “It doesn’t have to be like a long-term thing, a relationship. It could just be sex. You know, if he wants to, and we want to.” 

Bob thinks for a minute. “What if things get weird again, with the bands?” he says.

“There’s that to think about,” agrees Brian.

“Jesus, you are such a manager, is there anything you don’t think about with your manager mind? Don't you have a lizard brain like normal people?” says Bob.

“No,” says Brian. “Hey. Things aren’t always gonna work out as well as they did with Katlin, you know? That was special, a special confluence of personalities.”

“I know,” says Bob.

“Hey,” says Brian again. He puts down his magazine, pulls Bob’s fingers from his hair, twists around to look at him. “I love you, okay? I love everything about you. I love how you sing along with Kelly Clarkson in the car. I love how when you get sick you lie about it. I love that you waste hours of your life on Youtube. I love you, okay? No other person’s gonna change that.”

“I love you too,” says Bob, and laughs.

“What?” says Brian, with dignity. “What about this conversation is funny to you?”.

“Nothing,” says Bob. “Just – _confluence_. Was that a PSAT word?”

“Oh, die in a fire,” says Brian, flopping back down on Bob’s belly, making him _oof_.

*

Bob was going to be the one to ask, because he knows Dan better, but he chickens out. Brian asks. Dan adjusts his baseball cap, grins at Brian, says, “I’m down.”

*

Backstage in Boston, Jepha looks up from his J-pop magazine when Brian comes in and says, “Brian Schechter! You are not my mommy! You are a _Snort_!”

“Okay,” says Brian agreeably, dumping his stuff on the couch. Dan is sitting behind Jepha, framing Jepha’s body with his legs. He’s had Jepha take out his left earring and he is very carefully and slowly trying to fit the tip of his drumstick through the stretched hole in Jepha’s ear. His tongue pokes between his crooked teeth as he concentrates. 

Bob is on the other side of the room, chaindrinking Red Bulls and feeling like a creeper. Brian signals him with his eyebrows, and then stands there and looks at Bob like he’s waiting for him to decipher this communication, but Bob is unequal to the task. 

Brian shrugs, says to Dan, “Don’t tear his earlobe, okay, Whitesides, it’ll be a bitch.”

From the bathroom, Gerard calls, “Can we start charging a fine for using sexist language? Can we do that? Is it possible? Like a swear jar?”

“He’s being careful,” says Jepha placidly, turning a page.

“What does that say, Jepharee?” asks Dan, pointing with his other drumstick. “Huh, Jepharee?”

“I don’t know,” says Jepharee. “I could sound out the characters but I don’t know the word.”

“Well, learn faster, I wanna know,” says Dan.

Then it’s time to get ready to go on, and after that it’s time to go on, and then Bob is pumped up from playing and hysterically caffeinated and he doesn’t worry so much about how things could turn out. Backstage Dan is playing the drum part for London Calling on his knee. He says, “Hey, great show Bobert, Bobertina, Bob-a-bing,” and Bob jerks his eyes up from Dan’s knees, the rhythm on the denim.

“Great show, shweet tunes,” says Dan. He’s keyed-up like he gets before going on, much more subtle than the pre-show jitters of most musicians Bob’s known, more like a pulled-together focusedness, everything about him turned up a notch. 

“Shweet,” agrees Bob. 

“Whatcha doing tonight?” asks Dan.

“I dunno,” says Bob, watching Dan’s hands, the sticks tap-tapping. “I thought I’d bang a Jonas brother. Or two.”

“Good plan,” says Dan. “Hey, I’ll come back with you, after the show. Yeah? Is that good?”

“I guess,” says Bob, slowly. 

“Brian said tonight was a good night,” says Dan. He sounds casual, satisfied, like they’re talking about plans to go out for pancakes, or something.

“Okay, yeah, alright,” says Bob. “Tonight’s a good night.” He smiles at Dan.

Dan smiles back. “It’s always a good night for Jonas-brother banging, is what I say,” he remarks. 

After the Used’s set, Brian comes over to Bob, watching sidestage, and says, “I gotta go see a guy about a thing. Eat something and meet me at the hotel, okay?”

“Okay,” says Bob, stupid. “Dan’s coming too.”

“Yeah,” says Brian, smiling. “Yeah, I know, we talked.”

“Okay,” says Bob.

“Okay?” says Brian. “I love you.”

“You too, short stuff,” says Bob.

Bob and Dan go get hot dogs and walk back to the hotel. Dan bounces along with car radios, stops to watch street musicians, talks in funny voices, moves so fast sometimes on the edge of Bob’s vision that Bob’s heart leaps in his throat like Dan is a big dangerous animal that Bob doesn’t know well enough yet to feel at ease with. Bob feels like he’s trying to keep up.

They’re still laughing when they get to the hotel, get their keys, get on the elevator. Dan goes straight to lean on the wall across from Bob, tugging at his baseball cap. Bob pushes the button and stands with his hands in his pockets, suddenly self-conscious. He’s wearing his leather coat that makes him feel like a badass, but suddenly it feels like the wrong costume, the wrong uniform. 

Dan laughs, comes and stands right in front of him, so close Bob can feel the motion of Dan’s chest when he breathes.

“What?” says Bob, stupid, mouth dry, twitching his head, trying to flick his bangs out of his face.

“What?” mimics Dan, “What what what,” and they’re kissing, openmouthed, wet and slick, one of Dan’s hands on Bob’s throat, tilting his head up. Bob can feel the steady _thud thud_ of Dan’s heart in his chest cavity, pressed against him, and there’s the answering skitter of Bob’s pulse beating in his wrists, his throat. 

When they’re getting off the elevator, Bob catches Dan’s elbow, says, “Hey,” and whispers the safeword Bob and Brian use in Dan’s ear, the same one Bob’s had for years and years. Dan nods, repeats it, frowning to show he’s taking it seriously.

He walks just behind Bob, half a pace, and when they’re four numbers away from the room he reaches around Bob, fast, grabs his hands, pulls them behind Bob. “Oh fuck,” says Bob, stumbling, heart in his throat.

“Hey hey hey, keep walking,” says Dan in Bob’s ear, hot and close. Bob keeps walking, Dan right behind him, pinning his hands behind his back, laughing under his breath. When they get to the door, Dan swings his foot and kicks at it in lieu of knocking, whispering in Bob’s ear, “I wanna watch you suck him off, I bet you’re hot like that, I bet you like it,” and Bob drops his head, panting with a combination of shame and lust that’s more dizzying than the nitros he used to huff in his parents’ garage after his asshole band teacher made fun of him in practice.

Brian opens the door and Dan says cheerfully, in his Muppet voice, “Hey! Look what I found! A Bob! Those are rare and valuable, you know.” 

Brian laughs. Bob looks at Brian’s feet, in his socks. He feels dazed, concussed. 

Dan guides him into the room, and then there’s the soft _snick_ of the door closing, the warm wide weight of Dan’s palm on the top of his head, the cushy, fancy-hotel carpet against his knees. He looks up at Brian, and Brian is looking down at him with that look of intense, focused _want_ that always startles Bob, spooks him, like he’s gonna turn around and suddenly see some stranger, the real object of Brian’s desire. 

Bob says, “I wanna suck you off.” He is aware of Dan standing behind him, hands resting on his shoulders, but right now he can only look at Brian, helpless.

“Okay,” says Brian, smiling. “Should we tie you up first?”

“Yes,” says Bob. “No. I don’t know. Don’t ask me decision-questions when I’m dropped.” 

“Don’t be a bitch,” says Brian, putting his hand under Bob’s chin, shaking his head in reprimand. “Take your shirt off.”

Dan laughs behind Bob, helping him peel his shirt over his head. “Sexism jar!” he says.

Brian goes over to the bed, gets something. Dan bends over and whispers in Bob’s ear, hot and loud. “Your boyfriend told me about you,” he says happily.

“Uh,” says Bob, halfway between a groan and a grunt, swallowing some of the spit he’s suddenly got too much of. He can’t really talk.

“Yeah, he wasn’t lying,” says Dan. He sounds so goddamn cheerful, like he’s talking about drum fills or pop tarts or free porn websites. It makes Bob want to flail and bite and squirm and struggle. 

“About what?” manages Bob.

Dan leans close again and says in this pretend goofy porny voice that makes the blood under Bob’s skin burn, “That you’re a dirty, greedy fucking filthy boy, and you like being punished, and you like being smacked around.”

“So smack me around,” says Bob, emboldened. He watches Brian cross the room back toward them, bare feet silent on the carpet, like a big cat.

“Nuh-uh,” says Dan, sounding scandalized. “You think I’m that kind of girl? I’m shocked, shocked and disappointed. Brian Schechter, have you two asked me here to take advantage of me? How could you.”

Brian laughs and hands him one of the coils of the rope he’s holding, Bob’s favorite rope, the really soft, really strong, really expensive kind. Bob cranes his neck, watches it pass between them. 

“Hey, nice,” says Dan appreciatively.

“Yup,” says Brian. “I bought that shit in Tokyo, they’ve got the best stuff.”

“So I’ve been told,” says Dan. “By Mister Jepharee Howardee.”

“And he’d know,” says Brian. He’s kneeling next to Bob. “Grab your ankles,” he instructs, and Bob does. He closes his eyes and listens to their hushed half-syllables – _No, like_ and _there_ and _got it_ – as they tie him up. He can feel both their bodyheats, the brush of their breath against his skin. He likes that they’re talking to each other, ignoring him. He tilts his head back, looks at the glow of the lamp by the bed on the ceiling through his eyelashes. 

Brian stands back up in front of him and there’s the slide of his zipper, and Bob opens his mouth obediently, drops his jaw. Brian says, “No, wait,” and he gets his keys out of his pocket, passes them back to Dan, and Dan presses them into Bob’s hand, where his left wrist is tied to his right ankle.

“Okay,” says Brian, “No, wait.”

“No wait what?” says Dan. He doesn’t sound impatient, in any rush.

“The carpet, we won’t hear them if he drops them,” explains Brian.

Bob kneels patiently, waiting for them to figure this out.

Dan says, “We should go in the bathroom, then, for this part. Loud floor for keydropping.”

“Good idea,” says Brian.

Bob climbs far enough back up to say, “How the fuck exactly do you expect me to get to the bathroom like this?” The words feel tricky, clumsy, like he’s talking through molasses; he knows he probably sounds drunk or stoned.

Dan says, “Shut up, yeah? Shut up shut up,” and then he bends over, grabs Bob by his lashed-together ankles and wrists, and Brian grabs him under his arms, and they lug him over to the bathroom. It takes some maneuvering to get the three of them through the door. 

Bob says, “Ow. Ow. This is just awesome. This is possibly the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me. Ow.” 

“You need to learn when to shut up,” says Dan, conversationally, and Brian laughs. 

“You guys are morons,” says Bob. He feels stupid and awkward, out-of-control but not enough for it to be a good thing.

Brian puts his hand on Bob’s face, stills him. “Hey,” he says. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

Bob wants to answer but the words stick in his throat. “You could if you wanted to,” he says finally.

“I know I could,” says Brian, smiling. He goes back out to the bed. 

Bob looks at the floor. 

“Your boyfriend’s hot,” says Dan. “Man, I want him to smack me around sometime.” He rubs the back of Bob’s head, gentle and firm, like petting a dog. Bob feels calmer. Brian comes back and Bob looks up, sees the pulled-together look on Brian’s face, jaw tight, and what’s in his hands, and Bob’s belly flips, his heart hammers. 

One time when they were in New Zealand, Bob went skydiving, cause it had always been on his list of Badass Things To Do One Day. When he was waiting to jump he had this overwhelming feeling of deja vu, and he realized that it felt exactly the same as going under, almost there but not quite, and surrendering control; the same feeling of his body saying _can you take this?_ and his mind saying _fuck yeah_. He never felt the urge to dive again, cause why spend all that money when you can feel like this for free.

There’s the _snick snick snick_ of the lighter, not catching and then catching, and then Brian crouches in front of Bob, tilting the candle back and forth, watching the wax form and pool. Bob watches the flame, greedy, shy, and distrustful, fascinated, like you look at a drug someone else is doing that you don’t want to let on that you want some of. Behind him Dan makes a hummy little sound of approval, like an old geezer in his rocking chair on the front porch, nodding at the world. He pats the nape of Bob’s neck.

Brian rocks forward on the balls of his feet, says, “Lean back, tilt your head up.”

Bob looks up at the ceiling. He can feel his pulse all over his skin.

Brian says, “I’m gonna count to three first. One, two, three,” and he tilts the candle. Bob closes his eyes. He feels all his muscles tighten against the urge to twist away from the sting of the wax, as it runs down his chest, pools and hardens around his belly button. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Yeah, but you’re fine, you’ve got this,” says Brian, steady. There’s the _snick_ of the lighter again. Bob opens his eyes. He’s leaning against Dan; he can feel the sturdiness of Dan’s body. Dan’s hands are on his upper arms, holding on, and Dan’s breath is hot and a little irregular against the side of Bob’s neck. 

Brian says, “Again, here we go,” and this time the pain’s much sharper and brighter, against his already inflamed and sensitive skin. Bob squeezes his eyes shut, pants. He thinks he’s kind of a pussy, can’t ever take as much as he thinks he could or should, not in play and not in real life. He rebels against this thought, says, “More, do it again.”

“Shut up and stop trying to drive,” says Brian, sharp, but his voice sounds raw, rough already. Bob opens his eyes and Brian’s looking at him again with that strange scary heat. 

“I want more, I can take it,” says Bob, and Brian reaches out and twists one of Bob’s nipples, hard, the wax just starting to solidify. Bob lets out all his breath in a harsh loud pant.

“You’ll take what I want you to take,” says Brian. “Got it?”

“Yeah. Got it,” says Bob, humbled.

Brian twists again, and then pinches the tender skin under Bob’s nipples, works down to his belly. It feels like being stung over and over again by angry strong hornets. Brian pinches mean and hard and unhesitating, like a kid Bob knew in elementary school, who could pinch so fast and so hard when people made fun of her that it felt like she was taking the skin off your arms. Bob’s wrists jerk unconsciously against the rope, wanting to swat Brian’s hands away. He closes his eyes again, clenches his jaw to keep from making a stupid pain-grimace face. He feels Dan’s laughter against the side of his neck, soft. It feels like Dan’s laughing at him, and it makes him flush, makes him harder than he already is.

Dan makes a questioning sound at Brian, like _can I_ , and Brian says, “Go ahead, hurt him,” his voice a little breathless.

Dan’s fingers are bigger and stronger than Brian’s, but he doesn’t pinch as viciously, twist as tenaciously. With the two of them working together there isn’t any respite from the pain, each flare following the next without a pause, like a series of tiny electrical shocks. Bob twists his torso futilely, trying to get away from their fingers, just for a second. He hears a thin low noise somewhere in the room, like the whine of a florescent light, echoing in the shower walls, and then he realizes it’s him.

“Fuck, okay,” says Brian, his voice raspy and ragged. “Enough, he can blow me now,” shuffling up onto his feet. Dan laughs. Bob doesn’t open his eyes, breathing through the sudden relief, his stinging, smarting skin, until he feels Brian’s hand on his face, guiding, and then the silky hot softness against his beard, his lips. He opens his mouth.

Brian says, “Fuck, you are beautiful,” and Bob makes a frowny face up at him, _knock it off_.

“You knock it off,” says Brian. “I get to tell you you’re beautiful when you’re sucking my dick.”

Bob lowers his eyelashes, turns his head, tries to go farther down. Brian’s hand is on the crown of his head, resting, light, fingers threaded in his hair. He says to Dan, “Go ahead, you can touch him. Touch him,” and there’s Dan’s big hand on the top of Bob’s head too. 

Bob makes a sound, helpless, choked. Brian takes a deep slow breath, his dick twitching in Bob’s mouth, against his tongue. “Yeah,” he says, rough, quiet. “Push him down, yeah, like that, don’t be gentle.”

Dan’s hand slides down to the back of Bob’s neck, presses down, heavy. “Like this?” he asks, serious.

“Yeah,” says Brian. “Fuck.” His fingers close into a fist in Bob’s hair, tug hard enough to make Bob’s eyes sting. Trying to breathe around Brian’s dick is making him drool, and he hates that, but he doesn’t give a fuck. His wrists ache, his feet are asleep, his shoulders hurt from being pulled back, the skin of his chest and belly feels raw, flayed, and all he can focus on is the pressure of their hands on his head, their fingers brushing against each other, shyly. He’s making the low soft noise in his chest he makes when he’s so turned on he can barely stand it.

He hears Dan ask something above him, voice quiet and steady, and Brian answer. He tilts his head up, and he sees Brian’s left hand on Dan’s face, them kissing slow and careful. Bob thinks about the reserved, professional way Brian kisses when he doesn’t really know you yet, and he thinks about Dan’s big crooked teeth, the unselfconscious hotness of his enthusiastic sloppy elevator kiss. 

Brian laughs before he comes like he sometimes does, short and breathless, and Bob swallows and swallows. He shifts his aching knees against the linoleum, loosens his hand where he’s been holding onto Brian’s keys hard enough to leave indentations in his palm, tries to roll out the crick in his neck.

Brian, hand still on Dan’s jaw, asks him, “How do you wanna get off? Do you wanna fuck him?” His voice is husky and hollow, and the fingers of his other hand have loosened and are gently stroking Bob’s hair.

“Naw,” says Dan, grinning. “I was kinda hoping you’d put your hands down my pants, Mr. Schechter.”

Brian laughs again, surprised. “That could be done,” he says. He looks down at Bob. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” says Bob, after a second. He feels helpless, taken apart.

“I’m just gonna leave you like that for a while, cause I like you like that,” says Brian. 

Bob ducks his head, wants to says something smartass, indignant, but he’s too dropped. “Okay,” he says.

Brian and Dan lean against the sink, still kissing, and Brian undoes Dan’s pants, not in any hurry, takes his dick out and jerks him slow and steady. Dan makes little breathy noises, like a running commentary, and Brian stops kissing him every now and then to look at him, at his face, steady. 

They both ignore Bob, sitting tied-up on the floor with his aching limbs and his reddened, abused skin, ridiculous, and Bob has to breathe heavily through his mouth with how hot it is. He wants to look at them forever, Dan’s big hands settled on Brian’s hips, Brian’s serious face.

In the silence after Dan comes, their three breaths an uneven rhythm in the room, Bob drops the keys without meaning to. Brian looks over, sharp.

“Sorry,” says Bob. The muscles of his back are cramping unbearably and his feet are completely numb. “It hurts too much, I gotta get out of it.”

“I’ve got you,” says Brian. He comes and kneels next to Bob, tugs his knots loose in a few seconds, efficient. Dan leans back against the sink and watches.

“Don’t try to stand yet, okay,” says Brian. “Shake your arms out.”

Bob brings his arms in front of him slowly, wincing, and Brian presses his thumbs into the knots under Bob’s shoulderblades. “You did good,” says Brian. “You were in it a long time.”

Bob makes a small impatient noise; he hates that, being praised. He lurches slowly and clumsily to his feet, Brian behind him, hand on the small of his back, and Dan is suddenly in front of him, both hands on his arms, steadying. “Thanks,” Bob mumbles.

“No problem,” says Dan. His face is so stupid and kind and open, and he doesn’t look like this embarrasses him at all, the fallibility of Bob’s body. Bob wants to kiss him again, but his feet hurt so much right now, the blood rushing to them, that that’s all he can think about. He takes a step, winces.

“Yeah, go slow,” says Dan. “You can break your legs, moving too fast when your feet are asleep, did’ja know that?”

“Really,” says Brian behind Bob, in his interested voice.

Bob wants to tell Dan not to give Brian more ridiculous stuff to worry about, but his tongue is still too heavy and clumsy in his mouth for long sentences. They take slow shuffling steps out of the bathroom and over to the bed, and Dan hums a tune under his breath, accompanying the rhythm of their steps. Bob feels stupid, like an invalid.

“Sit,” says Brian softly, when they get to the edge of the bed. Bob sits, and Brian kneels down, eases Bob’s jeans and boxers off him. Bob is still hard, but he feels awkward about it, not sure who to look at, what to do.

“Lie back,” says Brian, looking up at him, and Bob scoots back on the bed, lies down. Dan is already climbing up after him, flopping on his belly, and Brian crawls up too. They start kissing again, clumsy at first, bumping into each other, and for a minute Bob just lies there watching them and forgets to want to get off.

Then Brian shifts, puts his palm on the inside of Bob’s thigh, just resting, warm, and murmurs, mouth still against Dan’s, “Let us in, come on.”

“Spread ‘em,” says Dan in one of his goofy voices, laughing.

Bob spreads his feet apart, plants them, and Brian and Dan, still kissing leisurely, slowly shift themselves so they’re framed in the V of Bob’s knees. Bob feels twitchy, like he can’t breathe, and he wishes he was still tied up cause he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

Dan puts his hand next to Brian’s on Bob’s thigh, and their hands just kind of rest there, demurely, like they are trying to put the moves on Bob during a movie. Bob can hear the slick sticky sounds of their mouths as they kiss, and then Brian turns his head, licks Bob’s cock, looks at him, eyes gleaming.

“Thanks,” says Bob. His voice still sounds strung-out. “Thanks for including me, assholes.”

“Shh, shh, shh,” says Dan, laughing, and he ducks his head too, licks next to Brian, the fringe of his hair brushing Bob’s belly. He whispers something to Brian that Bob doesn’t catch, and they both laugh. They kiss again, this time right against Bob’s cock, messy, mouths and tongues against him, and Bob doesn’t know whether to keep his eyes open or shut, cause it’s overwhelming, like more hotness than should be allowed in nature. 

They’re not that coordinated, like Dan will lick up while Brian’s licking down and their heads will bump together, but they’re enthusiastic, nuzzling into each other, licking Bob’s precome off each other’s faces, kissing around the head of Bob’s cock, tongues flicking over him. Sometimes they get distracted and start kissing each other deeply again, ignoring Bob, but Bob can’t be pissed off, cause it’s like real-life porn, porn happening between his legs, porn that he can touch. When he comes it gets all over both of them and they laugh at each other. 

When they go in the bathroom and clean up, Bob can hear their voices, the running water in the sink. He feels like the kid in Harry Potter who has his bones dissolved accidentally, like he will never be able to move his head off this pillow.

Brian climbs back on the bed, eyes bright, wipes Bob’s cock and thighs off with one wet cloth and then lays three others across the red, bruised skin on Bob’s chest. Bob makes a sound at the sudden cold, and Brian hushes him, snuggles down against Bob’s side.

Dan appears in the bathroom doorway. “Hey! Cuddletime,” he says.

“You’re invited,” says Brian, holding out one arm to him, and Dan climbs in happily. “Hey,” he says to Bob. “Hey hey hey you hotass,” smacking a kiss on the side of Bob’s neck, beneath his ear.

“Shut the fuck up,” mumbles Bob. He feels like some sort of embryonic creature, helpless, cradled between their bodies, Dan’s huge and solid and relaxed, Brian’s small and warm and humming with energy, his skin as familiar as Bob’s own.

Dan looks across Bob’s chest at Brian and says, “I’m so tired I could sleep a horse.”

Brian laughs at him and Bob falls asleep like that. He only wakes up part way when Dan whispers to Brian, climbs carefully out of bed. He bends over the bed, kisses both Bob and Brian ceremonially on the cheek, like a society lady leaving a luncheon. He turns the lamp off when he goes, and pauses in the doorway, looking back. “Thank you for having me,” he says politely, in his fast goofy voice. “I had a lovely time.”

“We did too, you weirdo,” says Brian, voice sleepy and fond, and there’s the click of the door closing softly.

Sometime in the night, Bob opens his eyes and sees Brian leaning over him in the dark, taking the washcloths off his chest and dropping them on the floor. “Stay on your back, okay,” Brian says, glancing down at him.

“You’re a very talented man, Schechter,” says Bob sleepily. “You have good ideas.”

“I know,” says Brian. He kisses Bob’s forehead and snuggles back down, his head on Bob’s shoulder.

*

The next day, going down to the lobby for bus call, Bob passes Bert coming out of his room.

“Robert,” says Bert, in his Serious Man voice, incongruously deep.

“Robert,” says Bob, nodding.

“Robert Robert,” says Dan’s voice from inside the room, emerging, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Just a couple of Roberts in the hallway.”

“Good morning, Daniel,” says Bert. “And how was your night last night in this fine city?”

“Super fantastic and super fine,” says Dan. He’s grinning at Bob and holding his arms out for a hug, and Bob grins back at him, complies.  
 


End file.
